


pray, wither sailed these ships all three

by alchemystique



Series: Paths-verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is not a holiday Emma has ever enjoyed very much, which of course means that Killian is suddenly father Christmas. A Holiday "Paths" aside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She blinks open bleary eyes to the sound of Killian singing loudly beyond the bedroom door, and immediately ducks into the safety and warmth of his piles and piles of flannel sheets and blankets, his voice becoming muffled as her hangover brain tries to make sense of the noise, and the strange smells wafting underneath the closed door.

She definitely should not have encouraged Milah to open that last bottle of wine. 

Emma groans, cautiously pulling the covers back off her face, one eye popping open to take stock of the bedroom, and the groan she emits could terrify a grizzly into submission. 

The room is still dark, but the window leading out to the fire escape is illuminated, a hazy glow drawing her attention to the string of fairy lights that have been wrapped around the rail and hung along the tops and sides of the window ledge, and as Emma stares in confusion she finally catches the string of lyrics Killian is singing along to.

"Uuurgh."

With her head pressed into the pillows and her mind running overtime to put the pieces together, she tries to remember Killian or Milah ever mentioning Christmas fever, but she comes up blank - so _why_ is she hearing her boyfriend crooning about chestnuts over an open fire the _day_ after Thanksgiving?  
br/> It’s not that she hates Christmas. It’s a very pretty holiday, all twinkling lights and shiny baubles, cable knit sweaters and fluffy scarves and bright white snow, and she’ll admit to having flipped through catalogues and admiring the overbearing presence of the holiday.

It’s the other stuff she doesn’t enjoy. Not that she’s told Killian as much - she’d met him at the tail end of Halloween last year and doesn’t remember even a string of garland decorating the Bean last year.

The door swings open as she’s slogging herself out of bed, and Emma shoots Killian a tired smile as she takes him in - from the dark cashmere sweater clinging enticingly to his shoulders, the dark wash jeans that she likes so much because of the way they show off his…assets, the adorable plaid slippers on his feet, and most importantly, the steaming mug in his hands.

"Although it’s been said, many times many ways…"

He slides across the space between them with a grin, his voice drifting across the quiet room, pressing a kiss into her hair as she raises a confused eyebrow his way. 

"Merry Christmas…" he gets out in that soft, lilting voice of his, and one of these days, Emma is going to ask him why he’d never made a career out of that voice, but not today. 

"Killian it’s not even December. Turn off the music."

The song plays out quietly in the other room, Nat Cole’s rasp slipping out over the speakers while Killian smiles softly at her, and his lips dip to press a kiss to her nose as she grabs for the mug in his hands - she almost drops it in annoyance when she sees her usual cinnamon stick has been replaced by a _candy cane_.

"No I shan’t. It’s Christmas."

Milah is a terrible influence on all of them - wine and Doctor Who marathons for Thanksgiving was a horrible, horrible idea.

"What’s got you in the Yuletide spirit, anyway?"

He avoids her gaze as his shoulders shrug up and down, and despite her cotton-ball brain she takes note of the fact. Something to come back to later.

She has to bite back a moan when she finally takes a sip of her cocoa - not the usual recipe, this one is, unsurprisingly, like Christmas in a mug - peppermint and chocolate and, if she’s not mistaken he’s slipped some Irish cream in there, and for the moment she forgets his avoidance tactics in favor of downing half of the steaming hot drink, as grateful as ever for her idiot boyfriend and his wonderful, amazing talent with drinks. 

Blinking up at him a moment later, his smile a little dopey as he watches her through his lashes, Emma leans forward, fingers tucking into his belt loops, tugging him closer to her. “Turn off the music and I’ll show you spirit,” she mutters, and his mouth splits wide in happy laughter even as she yanks him forward - they go tumbling onto the bed together in a splay of limbs, and she swallows his laughter with her tongue, forgetting the music and everything else for the moment.

———

Milah’s glare is a fearsome thing to behold on the best of days, but today Emma can’t quite take it seriously. Maybe it’s the massive amounts of decorations adorning every available space of the coffee shop, maybe it’s the snow falling in gentle waves outside, dusting the Jolly Bean’s windowsills, maybe it’s the holiday spirit getting the better of Emma, or maybe, just _maybe_ , its the absolutely ridiculous headband Milah is wearing - reindeer antlers with bells _and_ blinking lights.

"Not a word, Swan."

"You look very festive today."

"Oh, you little -" she pauses as the bells over the door jingle merrily, and a woman enters with two young children at her heels. "Happy Holidays!" she calls out to the family, and only someone who knew her well enough would see the ire behind her smile. 

"Killian gave them to me. As a gift."

"A gag gift?"

"Oh, no, the man was entirely serious."

"And you’re such a bleeding heart you just couldn’t say no to the bells?"

"Shut your mouth. You’ve seen the man when he gets excitable. He’s like a little puppy dog, all wagging tail and shining eyes."

Emma knows exactly what she’s talking about, and the unfortunate truth is he could probably get the Queen of England to wear reindeer antlers with blinking lights if he pulled that particular look on Her Majesty.

It’s a completely unfair advantage to add to his already numerous charms. 

"Well, they to suit your complexion nicely."

Milah’s hard looks could light a snowman on fire. “Oh, just you wait. He’s got you a gift as well. I hope it’s a carrot nose. Or a horrid Christmas sweater.”

Emma laughs as she takes the drink Milah slides across the counter, shooting a glance around the shop for an open seat - of course the only open table is right next the to the glimmering tree set up in the corner, and she slides into her chair with a sigh.

The place is like a Pinterest board, strings of lights hung along one wall, wreaths and bright, sparkling decorations hung along the bar, the pastry display littered with sprigs of holly and festive ornaments. Every time she comes in there’s something new on display, and as she glances around she can’t help the besotted smile that pulls at her lips as she catches sight of the Santa on a bookcase decked out in an eyepatch and a bright red bandana, complete with peg leg and cutlass.

She’s found herself an adorable man. It’s hard not to get into the spirit, really, with as excited as he seems about the whole thing.

Still, she has her reservations - Christmas has never been her holiday, and she’s not sure how to broach the subject with Killian without breaking the silly man’s heart.

When Milah slides into the seat across from her with a groan, Emma decides to start with her. “Has he always been this way about Christmas?”

Her friend scoffs, glaring at the string of garland hung along the ceiling above them. “God, no. He’s usually a Scrooge, about the whole thing. I’ve no idea what’s gotten into him.”

"What do you mean?"

The woman lets out a long sigh, eyeing Emma carefully. “You know what happened with his brother.” It’s a statement of fact, and Emma nods softly, all too familiar with the tense silence that follows mentioning Liam Jones. “It happened on Boxing Day. I thought Killian had sworn off the holidays for life, but…something must have changed.” She shoots Emma a significant look that Emma pretends not to understand. “You seem to have your own Grinchy feelings about the whole affair.”

"It’s not…" Emma sighs. "I don’t want to steal Christmas. It’s just not my thing." It had been, once upon a time. A very, very long time ago.

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been firmly entrenched, at this point."

"I don’t suppose you have an in with any of the Skellington’s, do you?"

Milah’s chuckle cuts across the shop. “Are you suggesting we hire someone to kidnap Killian and scare the Christmas out of him?”

Emma shrugs, using a finger to stir the whip cream into her cocoa, and feels guiltily grateful when the bells over the door chime again, a family of five tumbling into the shop in a haze of shopping bags and heavy coats. With one last look around the shop, she turns her attention to her phone, and the depressing amount of cases David has been texting her about all day.

Nothing like a bunch of criminals to distract from the overbearing jolliness of December.

———

The fourth time she hears the thumping in the hallway outside Killian’s loft, she unfurls herself from her pile of blankets on the couch to check the door - it swings open to a wide-eyed Killian, his dark hair dusted with snow as he lugs the most pathetic looking Christmas tree Emma has ever seen outside a Peanuts special up the last stair to the landing.

“‘lo, love,” he says on a final grunt, and Emma bites back a frown as he stills and an entire branch immediately falls to the floor.

"What is that?"

"That, my dear, is our Christmas tree."

The wave of panic rolls over her unexpectedly - her heart clenches around the words as his back is turned to her, and she swallows it down before he can turn to see it. She knows it’s silly - knows she’s far past the point of no return when it comes to how much she loves this man - but despite that - despite knowing exactly what lengths Killian would go to to make her happy, she can’t quite ignore the surge of desperate need to cut and run. 

"It looks a little sad."

"Best tree on the lot," he tells her on a grin as she holds the door open for her, and she knows without a doubt that is a flat out lie - she’d walked by the lot this morning on her way into the office, and this tree looks like the runt of the litter, rejected by it’s mother and left to starve. 

She watches his progress across the living room to the corner by the fireplace with jittery nerves, her arms crossed heavily over her chest as she fights back nasty comments - she hasn’t felt like this since before her first date with Killian, and it’s awful, and she feels like a horrible girlfriend, but he’s _overwhelming_ her with his whole Christmas spirit bit, and god, she really is the Grinch, isn’t she?

His arms slip around her waist once he’s finished, his chin tucking into the space between her neck and shoulder as his hand slides along her forearm, and it takes more effort than she’s proud of to unfurl her hands from their tight fist when he tries to thread his fingers into hers. 

Three and a half weeks. She only has three and a half weeks until Christmas has come and gone.

She can handle this. For Killian? She can handle it.

That night, as he curls against her, his arms tugging her back into the curl of his body as his breath fans out softly across her hair, she spends an hour staring at the ceiling, trying to talk herself down from a marvelous panic attack while he sleeps soundly beside her. Unable to toss and turn for fear of waking him, she digs half-moons into her palms and bites a hole into her lip, and finally slides out of bed and down the hallway.

She should have stayed in bed.  
  
As she slides into the kitchen she notices the bright sparkle of wrapping paper tucked into her purse, and her heart hammers in her chest as she stares at the box - square and thin with a bright yellow bow tied across dark paper littered with stars - the ache in her chest comes back full force, and she feels like an absolute piece of _shit_ as she stumbles into her boots and jacket, yanking her purse over her shoulder and tugging her beanie haphazardly over her head as she slides the unopened gift onto the countertop next to a nutcracker that looks like Blackbeard. 

She’s the worst girlfriend on the face of the earth, and this is the _least_ wonderful time of the year.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry, had to leave early this morning._

The text sits in her send box for two hours before she finally sends it. It's ridiculous at best - the man owns a coffee shop, he's up at three in the morning like clockwork and by then the bed had surely been cold, but what else could she possibly say?

( _Your enthusiasm for Christmas is making me remember exactly why I hate the holiday and I don't want to break up with you so please stop_. Yeah. That'd go over well.)

She doesn't get a response until after the early morning rush, and her heart aches a bit as she reads over it - she's guilty of being the absolute worst to possibly the best man she knows.

 _Thought you might have been kidnapped. I'll call off the search party._ and then _See you tonight?_

_Not tonight. I have a case._

He sends her a picture of a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and a raised eyebrow emoticon, and despite herself she can't quite help the burst of amused laughter. 

She's the _worst_ I'll see you tomorrow, okay? she sends, tucking her phone into her pocket and returning to the staring match she's been having with David since he found her in his office this morning. 

"You're an idiot," he tells her, and Emma sighs, head tilting back to glare up at the ceiling. 

"Yep."

\------

Emma is usually a fairly well-prepared person - not many things surprise her. 

Some things, though, surprise the hell out of her.

"Morning, sunshine," says the voice to her left as she rubs sleep out of her eyes, stumbling down her hallway towards the kitchen and her dear and blessed lord coffee.

Emma shrieks, clutching at the wall behind her and making a mental note to murder David for doing such a good job of bolting all the pictures to the damn wall - not a single one will budge when she reaches for a weapon.

Not that she really needs a weapon. Milah slides off the couch with an eye-roll, raising a questioning eyebrow at her as she drifts across the short expanse of living room to usher Emma the rest of the way into the kitchen. She's silent as she grabs two mugs from the cabinets, reaching for the already brewed coffee (thank whatever genius had invented timed self-brewing) and heaping sugar into her own drink before sliding Emma's across the kitchen island.

"Drink your coffee so I can yell at you like a proper human being."

"What? Why?" It's not an uncommon occurrence for Milah to want to yell at Emma - it's pretty much a daily thing for Milah to want to yell at _someone_ , but Emma had thought she was finally getting on Milah's better side. 

Her face goes white when Milah pulls a small gift out of her purse - starry paper and a yellow bow and it's only now that Emma realizes the color is a perfect match for her Bug. 

Stupid, idiot man.

"Killian's not an idiot, Swan. Well. He is, but he's a perceptive idiot, at least. You're freaking out about something, and I'm really not willing to do a repeat of this summer. He's worried he's upset you."

"And you're here because..."

"Because I don't give a bloody fuck whether or not he's upset you - he's moping, you're an idiot and you're going to fix him."

Emma's fingers beat out a rhythm against the granite countertop while Milah stares her. The woman is seriously scary.

"Can I at least put some clothes on first?"

\------

It's official. Emma is the _worst_

Half the decorations in the shop have been taken down, the music playing softly over the speakers is back to it's usual soft-rock, and none of the barista's are wearing the headbands Killian had gotten for them all. Worst of all is the missing pirate Santa on the bookshelf - she is a horrible, horrible person. 

Milah grins as she ushers Emma into the shop, calling out over the tops of a group of business mens' heads as Killian catches sight of them. "Look what I found at the grocery - I thought you might like this one." With one last overly significant glare in Emma's direction, Milah slides around them both and disappears into the backroom.

They stare at their feet and shuffle a bit before Killian finally clears his throat. "She's certainly perfected the art of subtlety, hasn't she?"

Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as he angles her towards the staircase in back, but she savors the feel of his hand at her back, fingers spread wide as he leads her gently up the stairs and slips through the door to the loft.

There's a box of decorations stuffed haphazardly underneath the coffee table, and the tree in the corner looks like someone may have taken a bat to it. She sighs into the silence as the door clicks shut behind her.

"I suck," she tells him without preamble, turning to look at him - he's doing that thing - one hand curled around the back of his neck, eyeing her carefully while he fights hard not to shuffle his feet - Emma hates it, hates everything about this moment, but she'd warned him what a mess she was, hadn't she? They'd had fights before - nasty ones, with barbed words and angry accusations, but nothing like this.

She follows him to the couch cautiously, keeping a careful few inches between them as he searches for words.

"You could have said something, before I decorated every last inch of space I could."

"I know, I just -."

"When I was younger, and it was just Liam and I, we didn't have much, you know. Liam - he worked and went to school and he did everything he could to keep us fed and clothed, but we struggled."

Emma watches him, curious where the tale has come from. He does this, sometimes - tells her something about himself, something painful for him. Maybe it's to remind her that she's not alone in this, maybe it's to make her more comfortable admitting all the shitty things she always tries to forget. Maybe he just trusts her with the dark and shady corners of his past.

"Christmas, though. Christmas was Liam's favorite holiday, and he was always bound and determined to make it mine as well. I don't know how he did it - we never really had the money for it, but he must have saved all year. He'd get the cheapest tree he could find - branches missing and half-dead already -."

She spares a look into the corner, at his sad little tree, and curls her fingers against his own. 

"We'd decorate it with ornaments we'd made from the neighbors newspapers, and every year on Christmas day I'd come down the stairs to find a single gift under the tree - he always signed the presents 'Santa', and I always hated him for it because he never let me say a proper thank you. It was always the one thing I wanted most, his gift - he must have worked overtime for _months_ to buy it every year, but he always did. Every year.

"I got a job when I was fifteen, but he was always adamant I save every penny - he always told me not to buy him anything. For the first couple years I didn't, but that last year - I brought Milah over for dinner Christmas Eve, and we roasted a duck and ate like kings, and I gave him a gift addressed to 'Santa'. It was silly - nothing, really, just a bauble I'd found in the store - an ornament of a tri-corn hat, blue with gold roping. 

"We drank spiked eggnog until past midnight and in the morning I woke to that single present under the tree, and a note from Liam saying he'd already gone into work - that he'd see me later that night."

His voice cracks and his hand trembles in hers, but then he looks at her - really, really looks at her, eyes holding hers as his hand slips out of her grasp and drags up her arm to cup her face. 

"I haven't celebrated since - I vowed I never would, but this year, I thought... I thought it might be time to share it with the people I love again."

She doesn't spare time to think about it before she reaches for him, tugging him towards her and gently tucking herself in close to him. "Christmas isn't my thing," she tells him, and he swallows heavily, eyes darting down to watch the progress of her fingers dancing across his palm. Her breath comes out in a shaky rattle as she steals herself to tell the story - he knows enough of her past that she doesn't have to start from scratch, and she's thankful for that, but...

"You don't have to tell me. It's not important." That's the thing, isn't it? He hadn't told her his story to prompt her own - he'd just wanted her to know he understood. 

"It _is_ important." .

"You know I like to hear all I can about your beginnings, love. Even the bad parts."

He sweeps his hand up over her shoulder, twirls a lock of hair around her fingers, and Emma feels tears burn in the back of her throat. She barges on. 

"When I was twelve, I stayed with a family for almost five months. They lived at the end of a cul-de-sac and they had a dog named Marnie, and they bought me a new backpack for my birthday and let me eat at the grown-ups table for Thanksgiving."

She tells the story in fits and starts - she hasn't thought about the Smith's in ages, and it's more difficult than she'd thought it would be. They'd been kind, and loving even - Lorraine had braided her hair every morning before school, and Harry had helped her with her math homework every night after supper. She'd started to hope that it might last - started to think they might care for her.

She'd helped decorate the Christmas tree with Lorraine and Harry while they listened to Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra and Wham! - they'd baked cookies for Santa even after Emma told them both she _knew_ all about "Santa", and on Christmas Eve they'd let her open a present early.

It was one of the happiest memories she'd had, up until that point in her life. She'd felt _loved_.

"I was back in the system before New Years. They never told me why, but a month later a little girl got adopted by the Smiths, and I just...stopped wondering if I'd ever find a family. I was the test run."

He's been silent this whole time, taking the story in with no interruption but the cling of his hand in hers. She takes a startled jump when he finally breaks the stillness to brush a finger across her cheeks, wiping at the tears staining her face while he watches her. 

"If it makes you feel any better, I can't even get rid of my test run. She lives down the hall and delights in reminding me how silly I am." 

Her snort of laughter cuts through the loft, but his smile is soft and sure and he squeezes her hand, gently pulling it up to press a kiss to her knuckles. God, she loves him. She loves him so much. "Yeah, well, she seems pretty determined to make sure I don't screw this up, so we should probably keep her."

"Oh, I've already signed the papers. We're stuck with her."

And this, right here, is the reason she can be so sure of Killian - this is the reason she's been upset the last few days - she doesn't have it in her to leave a man who can so easily make her laugh after revealing one of her worst memories. He can turn her pain into laughter without even trying, can make her smile when all she wants to do is curl into a ball and cry. She'd been so afraid of telling him, and now she can't imagine why - had she been afraid he'd reject her? Look down on her for her less than picturesque childhood? 

"I'll take down the decorations if you want. I did go a bit overboard."

She shakes her head, reaching for his hand again, pressing her knees hard against his as she faces him fully. "No. Don't take them down."

"But -."

"I usually spend the holidays chasing after whatever skip I can find and avoiding Christmas cheer at all cost. I've never tasted eggnog, and I don't even know all the lyrics to Oh Christmas Tree." He opens his mouth to interrupt with something no doubt awfully clever at that, but she pushes on, ignoring him. "I don't know how to make a gingerbread cookie, and I own one Christmas ornament, which I got at a White Elephant exchange I was forced into going to." Emma takes a deep breath, catches his gaze fully. "I haven't bought a Christmas present for someone in ten years. And I think it's time for me to try."

His eyes are blue blue blue in the low light, and his smile is soft and sincere and full of love. "If that's what you truly want..."

"It's what I want. I'm done being the Grinch."

"I always pictured you more as a Scrooge," he tells her, ducking away from her fist on a peel of happy laughter. She digs her fingers into his side and shrieks when he pins her to the armrest a moment later - her heart hammers in her chest in anticipation as he dips his head close to her neck, her eyes drooping closed as she bites down on her lip -

He's halfway down the stairs of the loft and back toward the shop before she recovers from the shock of having him blow a raspberry into her neck.


	3. Chapter 3

They go a little bit crazy with the decorations. Once Emma has taken the first step into letting Christmas back in her life, it’s like the floodgates open - she fills up an entire red cart at Target, fairy-lights and tinsel trees and wreaths and ornaments of all kinds - she hides the little Captain Hook ornament at the bottom of the cart and then as they’re loading things onto the conveyor belt she all but demands Killian go get her Starbucks.

The look he gives her is so affronted she almost rescinds the demand, but he’s already off, muttering to himself about bloody red cups and the mysterious brainwashing powers of the conglomerate. 

He’s probably got the cutest pout on the face of the earth, so she isn’t even sorry when she meets him at the doors and he hands off her peppermint mocha as though the cup itself holds diseases, his puppy eyes out in full force and his lips more pronounced than usual.

And it’s _fun_ \- decorating the shop, and the stairwell up to Killian and Milah’s apartments, and Killian’s home - she doesn’t remember a time in her life where she’s felt the _joy_ of a holiday like this one. 

She finds she has an affinity for annoying Milah with out-of-tune renditions of Christmas music - Jingle Bell Rock will actually make Milah’s ears go red and her nose scrunch up to near Cindy-Lou Who levels of ridiculousness, but Feliz Navidad will actually make her slam things and leave the room. 

Milah makes no comment about the cutout Killian tapes to her door - three outlines of a misshapen heart, the smallest of which holds tiny writing “You Are Here” - but Killian’s tree goes missing for three days before the man apologizes for calling her a Grinch.  
  
The tree is difficult. Killian trims the broken branches and lays out a velvet trimmed skirt, and they open their new ornaments one by one. Killian admits to her amidst their third attempt to wrap the tree in white garland that he’d burned all of Liam’s ornaments the year after the accident - Emma tears up when she realizes he’d bought her a “First Christmas” ornament. 

They dance around the living room to Christmas music, twirling and spinning until they are breathless with laughter, the smell of the gingerbread cookies he’d started at three in the morning wafting up from the stove in the kitchen - she steals candy canes from the tree while Killian isn’t watching, stirring them into her drink and nibbling on the ends while he pretends to be miffed that they’ve got a hole in the tree now.

She’s never felt so peaceful in her entire life, and it’s Killian, she knows, who has made it so. With his amused smiles, and his carefree laughter, and the way he watches her when he thinks she isn’t looking - with the gentle way he cradles her hand in his as they swing around the coffee table to “Santa Claus is Coming To Town, and the way he hums the chords of “Oh Holy Night” into her ear as he tugs her closer to him; he has shown her so much happiness and so much love in the past year that it’s difficult for her to even put into words all that he means to her. All that he has done for her fears and doubts, her high walls and her trust issues.

She loves him so very much, and she wishes she knew how to tell him - how to _show_ him just how grateful she is for his persistence, and his patience, and his support. His love.

When the tree is done, and the cookies have been pulled out of the oven to cool, he turns the music down low and presses her into the couch, his lips skimming her neck and his fingers dancing along her ribcage under the horrible holiday sweater Mary Margaret had given her as a gag gift years before - she drags him into deep, wet kisses; she sighs and keens as his mouth and lips and hands drag her willingly to her orgasm, and when she’s finally come down she pins him to the couch cushions and gives him a similar treatment, his curses muffled against a plush Santa pillow as she drags her teeth along his hipbone. They come together in a haze of delirious happiness and unhurried passion, their bodies moving in sync in a way even Emma knows is _more_ than it was before. 

They tumble over the peak together, gulping desperately for air before grasping desperately at each other for more kisses, more touches, more _everything_ , and Emma thinks she must doze off, for a bit.

She blinks open bleary eyes as Killian’s chest bobs up and down, and it’s only after he’s let loose a few gruff chuckles that she notices the sheets of garlands curled awkwardly around splayed body parts - they’re glittering in the dim firelight, and she presses a kiss to his nose as she picks strands of shining red out of his hair.

———

Mary Margaret and David join them for Christmas Eve - they ride over to Killian’s with Emma once they’ve all finished up at the office, and Emma pointedly ignores David’s raised eyebrow at the laughable amount of decorations dotting the walls and tables of the coffee shop, the string of blinking lights wrapped along the stair rail.

He swings open the door at the sound of their approaching footsteps, shaking David’s hand and sweeping Mary Margaret up into a hug, pressing a fond kiss to Emma’s cheek as he waves them all in.

Killian’s apartment looks like North Pole elves have had a party and then thrown up everywhere - there are fairy lights and decorations, a roaring fire and white candles cradled in holly leaves, at least five visible Santa’s - even his usual decorations have become more festive - an anchor hooked to the wall decked out in festive ribbon, the ship model along the hearth covered in fake snow. It’s absurd, completely over the top, and Emma’s heart beats an erratic rhythm in her chest as she thinks of her silly man and his determination to make this the most wonderful Christmas either of them has ever had. 

He has a stocking up for each of them, all embroidered with names - Emma’s is decidedly fuller than the rest, but there is one for Milah, and for David and Mary Margaret as well. The place has the distinct smell of the holidays - he’s been baking again, and the only reason David bites back the comment about Killian’s “Kiss the Cook” apron is the elbow Mary Margaret digs into his ribs.

Milah gives them all a faux-disenchanted greeting, pretending not to smile as Killian slides around her toward the kitchen - she’s got her antlers on, and David _does_ make a comment about those - only to receive Milah’s hard glare and a loud laugh from his wife when Killian digs a hand into David’s stocking and produces another headband - this one is a little elf hat, complete with a bell that jingles every time David so much as thinks about moving.

Emma follows Killian back into the kitchen while David pouts in the living room, curling her arms around him while he stirs something that smells sinfully delicious in the pot in front of him. He lets out a small, happy sigh when she presses her lips into his spine, and, as if by magic, turns to hand her a cup of hot cocoa, cinnamon stick poking out from the top of a mound of whipped cream.

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to make me fat," she tells him as she swings up onto the counter beside his work station, tucking her legs up underneath her as she watches him work. There are piles and piles of decorated cookies lining the island, and what looks like all the supplies you could possibly need to gingerbread houses tucked away near the coffee pot in the corner. He eyes her in amusement over a steady stream of steam.

"Darling, if you’re fat no one will want you but me."

He ducks her half-hearted blow, his grin firmly in place, and resumes humming softly along to the music drifting in from the living room. She can hear Mary Margaret and Milah’s voices, just a steady hum of incomprehensible conversation over the sound of the crackling fire.

Killian grins at her as he places the lid back on the sauce pot, sliding into place in front of her, his head tilting as he holds her gaze - Emma feels a pang of sadness for a moment, sadness that she’s missed out on so much up until now. His forefinger tucks up under her chin as he notices the distance behind her eyes, and she smiles up at him, casting aside the melancholy as David’s bright laugh echoes in the other room. The hand not cradling her cocoa slides up his chest, curling around his cheek as his forehead dips to meet hers.

"Thank you," is all she says, and it’s not nearly enough, but he gets it, all the same. 

The kiss they share is soft, and sweet, and it could have lasted for a minute or a lifetime, for all Emma paid mind to the world around her while it went on. 

They only part when David pokes his head around the corner to inquire about the burning smell, and Emma shrieks with laughter at the realization that in their distraction Killian had singed his apron on one of the burners.

———

Emma grumbles to herself at the sound of Killian’s voice pulling her out of dreams, her attempt to yank the covers over her head thwarted by the weight of Killian’s body across the duvet. He’s singing, again, and Emma doesn’t understand how the man can possibly be this cheerful after he’d helped the lot of them clear out two cartons of spiked eggnog the night before.

"Wake up, love. We’ve one more Christmas tradition we haven’t celebrated, yet, and I’m very eager to have you experience it."

She squints at him, his hands tucked carefully behind his back and a far too innocent look plastered to his features. They’d opened presents the night before (she’s still going to have to murder David for actually giving Killian that stun gun - seriously), built and then quickly (drunkenly) demolished a slew of gingerbread houses, eaten dinner around the roaring fire - she doesn’t know what they could possibly have missed in all of that. 

“ _What_.”

He’s still grinning like an idiot - she can’t help noticing he’s already clad in the sweater she’d given him (specially commissioned, a Christmas sweater featuring a tiny line of Jolly Roger emblems and a pair of anchors, and below all that a row of swans twined at the neck, because god damn it, she could get silly and sentimental too), and she blinks once more before turning onto her back, tilting herself up on her elbows to give him a curious stare.

She realizes what’s coming about half a second before he raises his hand over his head, displaying the mistletoe clutched in his fingers.

"You’re a dork," she tells him on a smile.

"Tradition is tradition, you know. You can’t deny Christmas spirit."

She rolls her eyes as she takes him in - the soft smile and the subtle tilt to his lips - it’s hardly her own fault when her hand darts out to drag him into her - he tastes like mint and coffee, his lips sliding easily over hers, his mouth opening under her ministrations, his breath fanning out across her cheeks as she draws out the kiss.

They break apart breathless and grinning like idiots, and it’s only then that she notices the glint coming off the bundle of mistletoe.

"Killian."

He doesn’t even seem a little nervous as he lowers the small branch, his hand steady as he unfurls the ring from the ribbon, and her only thought is that she is hungover and still in her pajamas.

"Emma. This year has been the best of my life. Being with you has been - every moment has been magical and more wonderful than I could ever have dreamed, and I -."

She’s in her pajamas, and she needs about ten glasses of water, and her legs are still tucked into the bedcovers. But after a moment of pondering the utter ridiculousness of the situation, Emma has a second of startling clarity before she completely interrupts Killian.

"Yes!" He pauses, his hand still in mid gesture, the ring clutched between his fingers, and Emma nods just to make sure he’s understanding what she’s saying.

"But I didn’t even get to finish."

"I love you too, you idiot. Now put that ring on my finger and come kiss me."

His eyes go dark as she holds out her hand, and Emma’s laughter echoes across the apartment as he tackles her into the pillows, Nat King Cole crooning in the background.


End file.
